MY HUMBLE SLAVE

It was around midnight in Libreville, and I was lounging in my bed, unable to sleep because of the Gabon heat. I was also on Grindr, casually surfing and checking out what was available.

Then he tapped me.

I checked out his profile to find it blank. No profile picture and a purple demon emoji where the details of his profile was supposed to be. I honestly don’t know why I felt compelled to send him a message, considering there was nothing inviting about his profile. Maybe it was the fact that it was a slow night on Grindr. Or maybe it was because I thought there was more to this blank profile than meets the eye.

Turns out, I was right.

I said hello. He said hi.

He said he was Enzo. I told him I was Alexander.

He asked why I was up that late, and I told him because I was online chatting.

He asked me what I was into. I told him I liked to fuck and eat ass.

He said he also liked fucking, but that he could go for more. I asked him what he meant by more, and he said he was kinky. He also sent the purple devil emoji after that, and I wondered if that was supposed to represent the fact that he was freaky in bed.

I asked him how kinky he was, and he said that he likes feet.

Interesting, I thought as I reflexively glanced at my own feet, crossed at the ankles at the base of my bed.

I asked him what else. He appeared to hesitate as he responded that he didn’t know how I would feel if he told me. I told him to try me. Then he said that he liked to be whipped.

I was startled by this revelation. As a Nigerian, this kink wasn’t something I’d ever come across as existing in the gay community. And as an African living in an African country, it still wasn’t something I’d ever known a fellow African to desire.

And then, he sent his picture, and I gave an A-ha nod, like it all suddenly made sense. Enzo was not an African. He was a white man. The man in the picture was blonde-haired and looked like he had a rangy build. He was very interesting to look at.

When I sent him my own pic, he responded by saying he liked me. He seemed to take my sending the picture as encouragement that he could go on talking to me about his kinks. He began talking about how he liked to be whipped by a bamboo stick, that it gave him joy. I told him I hadn’t ever tried whipping anyone before, but that I wouldn’t mind trying it with him. He seemed very pleased and his effusive response to that made me wonder if anyone here had ever agreed to do this for him.

I asked him if he had any sex toys, and he said yes, going on to list that he had butt plugs, handcuffs, chains, dog collars, rubber whips – and the bamboo stick.

At this time, I was intrigued. The possibility of trying something new during a hookup was mildly appealing. I asked him when we could see, and he said he wouldn’t be available until after a week.

I was cool with that. I needed time to know how to be sadomasochist anyway.

After that night, we moved to WhatsApp. I noticed that after I gave him my WhatsApp number – which is a Nigerian number – it took a couple of days before he buzzed me on WhatsApp. When I asked him why he took such time, he said that he’d had his reservations about continuing our interaction after he saw that I was a Nigerian, judging from my number. I didn’t ask him why he had such reservations about Nigerians; I was sure he’d had quite the unpleasant experience hooking up with my countrymen. Or maybe it was our international reputation as conmen that had soured his impression of Nigerian men. Either way, I was determined to put as much distance between me and that narrative as I had put between me and the country.

During the week before our scheduled hookup for Saturday, Enzo and I began to get to know each other. He sent me pictures of his body post-BDSM, and it was all bruised flesh and skin with welts and blood on it. I was both fascinated and alarmed – like, was it possible that anyone could go to this length of pain in search of pleasure? I began to consume as much BDSM videos on gay porn sites as I could, just to educate myself on how it works to be the dominant partner in a BDSM hookup.

We soon went from chatting to talking on the phone. Actually, Enzo was the one who called me every now and then. I didn’t even bother to keep in touch; he made all the effort. This hinted once again at the fact that he didn’t get a lot of guys here who agreed to help him get his freak on the way he wanted.

On Friday, when we talked, I told him that I would come around by 10, and that he should have on nothing but a jock-strap and high heels. He said he would put on the jock strap, but that he didn’t have any stilettos.

“I want to see you wearing those high heels,” I said insistently.

“Where on earth am I going to get high heels to wear?” he said.

“I don’t know. It’s not my business. Just have them on. Don’t ask me any stupid questions.” I was already getting into character, and I liked it.

He must have liked it too, because he said with a chuckle, “Hmm, that was good. Tomorrow, you will be my master, and I will be your slave.”

I felt a slight thrill race up my spine. Was this what it felt like to be powerful?

He told me not to shower before coming, that I should bring my unwashed morning body the way it was to his place. I was in my mind, like: God forbid! Me that work out on Saturday mornings; how the hell am I supposed to take all that workout grime to his place?

I wouldn’t be comfortable. Even though I told him okay, I knew I wouldn’t do it.

Saturday morning came soon enough, and after I’d worked out, I bathed. Then I did some squats, enough mild workout to work up some sweat. Then I got dressed and buzzed Enzo. He sent me his Google map location and I set off for his place.

When I got to the place that was supposed to be his residence, I stopped short some distance from there and stood there, my jaw dropping open. Even from outside, it was apparent this guy was living in a palace. The house looked like it was sprawling, with high gates and uniformed men patrolling the premises.

Jeezuz! Is this guy some European prince or something? I thought, feeling very awed as I brought out my phone to call him.

“Hey,” I said once he picked.

“Are you here yet?” he asked.

“Well… Yes. I’m outside –”

“Oh cool,” he cut in. “Just walk up to the gate and tell the security that you want to see the CEO.”

The CEO of WHAT?! I almost blurted out. Because, judging from the imposing façade of the house, this man looked like he was CEO-ing some Fortune 500 company or two.

I walked up to the security at the gate and told them I wanted to see the CEO.

The beefy man’s face brightened from the scowl he’d been wearing as he watched me approach, and he said, “Oh, you’re Alexander, right? Come right in. He’s expecting you.”

As I was ushered into the compound, the entire environment became even more impressive. It was so fucking palatial, like this man was rolling in dough.

I got to the door, knocked and I heard a voice tell me to open and come in. I did that and walked into a well-furnished foyer. But it was the man standing there before me that caught my attention. He was tall, much taller than I am, meaty but not fat, with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed features that made him strikingly French.

He was also clad in nothing but a jockstrap and high heels.

I smiled as I shut the door.

That was as far as I got, because he swiftly came up to me and dropped to his knees. He pulled off my shoes, one after the other, sniffed at my feet and then began to lick them.

Oh boy, so we are just going to get right into it, huh? I thought, before saying, “Stop.”

He immediately stopped moving and looked up meekly at me from his position on the floor.

“Yes, Master?” he said, his voice very subservient.

“Take me to the bedroom now,” I instructed.

“Yes, Master,” he said.

He got to his feet and began tottering down the hall, leading me past the opulent furnishings of the house up the stairs, and to the bedroom. Everything was already set out on the table in the room. The butt plugs, the chains, the whips and the bamboo stick. There were even a couple of candles and a matchbox.

Oh boy. It’s just a wawu!

I sat down on a chair and stretched out my feet. “Start licking,” I ordered.

And as he scurried down on all fours to start slobbering over my feet, so it began.

This was a new experience for me, and I was determined to play the role of the dominant partner perfectly. At a point, when I was done with the feet-licking, I put the dog collar on him, attaching it to the chain and began to lead him around the room, him on all fours moving behind me like a dog.

Then I stopped and ordered him to suck my nipples. He was on my chest and sucking one nipple, when I said harshly that he wasn’t doing it well. And before I knew it, I had slapped him hard across the face. That shocked me; I mean, I knew I was going to hit him at some point, but I hadn’t thought as far as actually doing it. This was a man that was older and bigger and clearly higher in life’s station than me.

And I had just slapped him.

He reacted by whimpering and begging me, that he was sorry, that he would suck my nipples better.

“No,” I snapped. “You had your chance and you didn’t do it well. Now, you have to be punished.”

I picked up the bamboo stick and thwacked him hard on his behind with it. It was an unexpectedly hard blow, and he cried out.

Loud!

So loud, in fact, that I was jolted quickly back to my senses: that this was a powerful man with lots of security outside.

I quickly shushed him. “Jeez, don’t shout like that. Your security is everywhere outside.”

He smiled at me. “Don’t worry. They won’t come in.”

“Are you sure?” I said, full of doubt.

“Positive,” he said. “Besides, you’re my master now. Since you control me, you control them.”

I looked at him like he was mad. Those hefty guys with permanent scowls on their faces didn’t look like they’d take too kindly to being bossed around by a small dude like me simply because I got their boss into skimpy underwear and high heels.

We carried on. I was naked now, and I ordered him to suck my balls. He began to feverishly suck them, and as he did, I lashed out at his back and rump occasionally with the stick. He would whimper, cry out softly, and continue sucking.

“Master, what will be my reward for my obedience?” he paused to ask one time.

“Will you stop asking me stupid questions,” I snarled and whipped my hand forward, the slap catching him across his face.

He cried out, and then said, “Yes, Master”, before going back to sucking my dick and balls.

Then I got up and began to flog him. I ordered him to climb onto the bed, which he hastened to do. I lit a candle and came close to him, tilting the candle to drop hot wax on his balls. A scream tore out of his mouth, startling me yet again. Then I became angry immediately.

“Stop screaming!” I snarled and whipped him hard with the stick.

He continued screaming.

“I said, stop screaming!” I continued to lash out at him.

I was crazed. I was wild with angry authority. I didn’t know I had this in me. I was flogging him indiscriminately, and then he began to whimper, “Master… Master…”

I stopped. That was our safe word. Yesterday, I had asked him what the safe word would be, and he chose master.

I was getting exhausted and this reprieve came just in time. Who knew that being a slave owner was such tasking work?

We laid there on the bed, catching our breath and just relaxing from the stormy past hour.

Then he said, “You know I’m going to have to flog you back, right?”

“WHAT!” I said, looking up at him with incredulity.

He was staring calmly back at me. “Yes. I am going to have to flog you back.”

As he said this, he began to reach for the bamboo stick. But my reflexes were good, as I snatched it away from him and reacted without thinking: I lashed out at him, thwacking him once, twice, thrice.

“Yes, Master!” he cried with savage joy. “That’s what I’m talking about. I should never disrespect you. Ever! Otherwise, you’re going to punish me!”

“Yes, you’ve been very bad, and you deserve severe punishment,” I said with masked relief.

I had actually thought he was serious when he said he would flog me. To think that he’d tried to mess with my head spurred me on to get more brutal.

I whipped him so hard, he began crying. He was actually sobbing. He simply curled up into a fetal position and began sobbing tears. For a moment, I had the fleeting thought as to what kind of fucked-up childhood he’d had to make this the only way for him to gain sexual pleasure.

“Stop crying!” I barked, before ordering him to straighten himself out on the bed.

He did, and I brought the candle to his body, turning some hot wax on his nipples. His ear-splitting scream was expected, and yet, it made me jump. I had to snatch a sock and stuffed it into his mouth to gag him. I was ever conscious of the fact that there were security men just outside.

I tortured Enzo some more with hot wax, and then I was ready to fuck. I cuffed him to the bed, clambered onto him, strapped on a condom and began fucking him.

As I banged against his ass, I slapped him repeatedly, saying, “This is your reward, you little bitch. For being such a good slave, this is your reward.”

As I increased the tempo of my thrusts, I grabbed his throat and choked him. He didn’t resist; he simply laid there, welcoming my thrusts, while choking out, “Yes, Master. Reward me, Master.”

He first came, without even touching himself or anything. And then, I came. It was such a heady rush of orgasm.

As I dropped by his side, I was well and truly spent.

After what seemed like several minutes of simply breathing and not speaking, he said, “You were really good.”

This wasn’t my slave’s voice. This was Enzo’s voice. The guy I’d been talking to all week-long was back. The bitch slobbering all over my feet, dick and balls was gone. I imagined this guy wouldn’t appreciate it very much if I took up the bamboo stick and whacked him with it.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the compliment.

“I honestly thought you’d be weak,” he said with a chuckle. “But you surprised me beyond what I imagined.”

I felt a glow inside me. First try at BDSM, and it appeared I’d aced it.

“Why don’t you go brush your mouth so I can kiss you,” I said with a semblance of my former authority.

He obeyed, getting up and disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. He came out minutes later and we kissed long and hard.

Then we lay in bed and simply chit-chatted, gisting about this and that, with me trying to keep my eyes averted from the welts and bruises I’d brought upon his fair skin.

By the time I left, we’d agreed to do it again. But we unfortunately couldn’t get around to it, because he soon left Gabon. A week or so after that experience, I saw him on the news. He was among some powerful men – Gabonese politicians, high ranking officials and other expatriates. He looked like he belonged in their midst.

So this guy truly is a CEO, I thought as I watched him on the TV screen, and wondering about that one time when this powerful man was my slave.

Written by Alexander